


book club

by therestlessbrook



Series: and my heart beside [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, all the ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18961057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook
Summary: Foggy starts a book club. And Frank’s the only person who ever shows up.





	book club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soixantecroissants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soixantecroissants/gifts).



The worst part is, Foggy does everything right.

He picks a coffee shop that isn’t frequented by hipsters, by screaming children or by college students reeking of weed. He picks a book that isn’t ridiculously old or so new that it’s an overpriced hardcover. He starts an email thread and reminds everyone of the date and time. He offers to buy the first round of coffee.

So why the hell is the only person sitting across from him _Frank freaking Castle?_

He looks different. He grew a beard—which means he would have blended in at one of those hipster coffee shops. He’s wearing flannel and combat boots, and he looks a bit like a lumberjack on the cover of a romance novel. Foggy can admit these things to himself.

“Hi,” says Foggy faintly. He isn’t going to freak out. He isn’t—because he has his pride. Sure, he’s sitting across from a man who could probably snap his spine in eight different places without breaking a sweat, but Foggy has pepper spray.

Well, actually it’s Marci’s pepper spray that he has because he accidentally grabbed her keys on the way out of the apartment today, but still. 

He’s armed. He’s just as badass as Frank Castle.

He is so screwed.

He wonders if he has time to text, _Avenge me,_ to Matt. Probably not.

“If this is about your trial,” Foggy begins to say, but Frank reaches into his heavy coat. Foggy half-expects him to pull out a combat knife or a grenade—but instead, he holds a tattered copy of _A Gentleman in Moscow_.

“Meeting’s at seven, right?” Frank says, and Foggy forgets how to breathe for a few seconds.

“You’re here for my book club?” says Foggy. This is a joke. This has to be a joke. Someone is laughing at him right now from behind one of these overstuffed armchairs.

“Yeah,” says Frank. “I got looped in on the email thread.”

Foggy stares at him. “You—got looped in. On the email thread.”

“I’ve been told I need a social life,” says Frank, with all of the enthusiasm of a man climbing into a dentist’s chair. “And it was either this or a fight club.”

Foggy stares harder. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“Of course I’m joking,” says Frank, and the smallest of smiles curves his mouth. “A fight club would be illegal.” He nods at the counter. “Thought you were picking up the first round.”

Foggy rises from his chair, walks stiff-legged the counter to order coffee.

And somehow he ends up spending an hour making stilted conversation about Russian history and poetry with _the freaking Punisher_.

* * *

He thinks it’s a one-off. It has to be.

When he gets home, Foggy sends a mass text—all right, it’s just to Karen and Matt—demanding to know who thinks Frank Castle needs more group activities.

It was Karen. Who carries a gun in her purse and thinks nothing of threatening kingpins—of course she would think having the Punisher in Foggy’s book club would be just fine. “His friend Curtis really has been on him about being more social,” she says at lunch the next day, and Foggy wants to ask how she knows this, then decides against it.

“Did he read the book?” asks Karen, eating a bite of sandwich.

“Yes,” says Foggy, a little grudgingly. “He actually knew some stuff about Russian history that I didn’t. We had a good talk.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

Foggy waves his fork in the air. “I mean—he’s Frank Castle. At my book club. Which you and Matt didn’t attend, might I add.”

Karen looks guilty. “I’m on deadline. Sorry—I’ll try for next month. What are we reading?”

“ _The Power_ by Naomi Alderman. It’s supposed to be feminist—come on, it’ll be right up your alley.”

Karen nods. “I’ll try.”

It’s only when she stands up does Foggy notice what she’s wearing—a flannel shirt that definitely isn’t hers.

Well, that’s one mystery solved.

* * *

But next month, Karen ends up meeting a source and Matt is off saving the world and Marci has girls night.

So Foggy sits in an overstuffed armchair, holding a latte, while Frank Castle orders his own drink. Black coffee, of course, because he’s far too badass for things like milk.

“So you haven’t found a fight club yet?” asks Foggy.

“Found one,” says Frank. “Killed the owner.”

Foggy chokes on his latte. “Still not sure if you’re joking.”

Frank sets his copy of the book on his knee. It looks well-read—the pages dog-eared because Frank is apparently a book sadist in addition to all of his other crimes. “What’d you think?” asks Foggy.

Frank sips at his coffee. “Good. I liked the framing device of having it read as non-fiction.”

“I thought it detracted a bit from the narrative,” says Foggy, determined not to be out-literatured in his own damn book club. “Made the pacing a bit jerky.”

“It’s supposed to be,” says Frank. “It’s like that one book—what was it called? _World War Z_. It’s interesting science fiction because it’s meant to be set up as real life.”

“You read a zombie book?”

“I spent time in an underground bunker while trying to take down a CIA agent and my ex-NSA roommate had it on hand.”

“I am still not sure if you’re joking or not.”

* * *

Foggy keeps thinking that it’s a one-time thing. It has to be a one-time thing, because then Foggy would have to admit he’s in a book club with the Punisher.

And not only that, the Punisher can hold his own in debates about literature. Foggy keeps picking books—all right, so maybe he’s just ripping them off of NPR’s website, but still. Frank keeps reading them. They read _Hillbilly Elegy_ —which Foggy admits he picks because the author is both a former marine and graduated from Yale law. They read _All the Light We Cannot See_ , which makes Foggy cry and Frank says he couldn’t really finish. They talk about death in _When Breath Becomes Air_ —and Foggy admits he’s never had a close family member pass away and the prospect is terrifying, particularly the older his father gets. Frank talks about his parents a bit; they were older when they had him, and something in Frank’s face softens when he talks about them. 

Somehow in the conversation, Frank comments he’s never read Terry Pratchett and Foggy demands that the next month’s book be _Hogfather._

And then Frank doesn’t show up.

Foggy waits an hour at their usual coffee shop, then finally gives up and goes back to his apartment. He ends up texting Karen on the way, asking if Frank finally found that fight club.

It’s another hour before he gets a reply.

_Sorry—we’re at the hospital._

Shit.

Foggy rushes back out of his apartment so fast he forgets to grab a coat and ends up shivering in a cab the whole way to the hospital.

He finds her in a curtained-off area of the ER, sitting on a plastic chair. Frank Castle looks small somehow in the bed, his eyes closed and a bandage across his brow. He’s bruised, but he still doesn’t look as bad as that first time Foggy met him. Karen is reading aloud quietly. Her voice is soft, and Foggy recognizes the passage.

“— _YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES. ‘So we can believe the big ones?’ ‘YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING_ ,’” she murmurs. Her free hand is wrapped around Frank’s, their fingers intertwined.

Foggy takes a step back, intending to give them privacy, but she hears him.

Karen looks up. “Oh, Foggy. You didn’t have to come.” She rises from her chair, comes to give him a hug.

“You’re at a hospital,” says Foggy. “Of course I came.”

Frank doesn’t stir. “He’s on some painkillers,” she says, when she sees Foggy’s glance.

“What happened?” asks Foggy. “Was he out… doing his thing?”

Karen shakes her head. “Construction accident,” she says. “Someone was stupid—and Frank got hurt. Well, Pete. Call him Pete here. That’s his fake ID.”

Foggy tries to hide his surprise. A construction accident—it’s so mundane. “He going to be all right?”

“Concussion, but the doctors think he’ll be fine,” Karen says. “He’s staying the night for observation. He was a little rattled, though. Kept trying to get out of bed so he could attend your book club.” She shakes her head ruefully. “Told him to stay put and I’d read to him. He fell asleep in two minutes.”

“I’ll try to take that as a sign that the painkillers are good and not that he hates Pratchett,” says Foggy. “Guess I’ll find out next month.”

Karen smiles a little. “Thanks, Foggy.” She hesitates. “He likes it, you know. I don’t really have time to read for pleasure. He enjoys talking with you.”

Foggy ducks his head, unsure if he’s embarrassed or pleased.

“Yeah, well,” he says, “your boyfriend’s actually a bit of a book nerd, I have to tell you.”

A grumble comes from the hospital bed.

“Heard that, Nelson,” Frank mutters.

* * *

The next month, Foggy goes to their usual coffee shop and finds a latte already waiting for him. Frank sits at his normal chair, a dog-eared copy of _Hogfather_ on his knee.

“I liked it,” says Frank. “Good use of humor as a critique of society.”

And all right—so maybe having the Punisher be the only regular member of Foggy’s book club is a little weird.

But then again, at least Frank appreciates Pratchett.


End file.
